


Pathogen

by mudgems



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asgardian Culture (Marvel), Bruce Banner & Loki Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce has the patience of a saint, Fever, Gen, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Loki (Marvel), Internalized racism, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel)-centric, Loki is Not Amused (Marvel), Loki is a Good Bro (Marvel), Magic, Offscreen Deaths, POV Bruce Banner, POV Loki (Marvel), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Bruce Banner, Right?, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Sick Loki (Marvel), Sickfic, Whump, but loki's got this, but no one we know, it's all going a bit wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudgems/pseuds/mudgems
Summary: It would appear Loki’s unique ancestry provided some immunity from the illness sweeping the ship. It seemed Bruce was also to remain unaffected, though Loki suspected this was by virtue of the green beast’s robust nature rather than the plucky resilience common to most humans.They obviously had that in common, the two of them. The unlooked-for protection of monster’s blood. The native resistance of animals. The unclean fortitude of beasts.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Loki, Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

“Father?”

Loki wrinkled his nose. Since when had the _Allfather_ ever deigned to attend one of his own, whether injured from battle or struck down with sickness? Certainly not for a good many centuries, and even then not without very good cause. It was not seemly for a king to dote too openly upon his sons, nor was it expedient to the preparation their stations warranted. The sickroom was the province of women, and of the sad wretches weak enough to require it.

“You’re rambling, Thor,” Loki told his brother, though this seemed only to fuel the sick man’s struggles. Thor threw his head from side to side, distress growing.

“Father?” Thor asked again, more urgent this time, and the plaintive quality to his voice was enough to break Loki’s resolve.

“Yes,” Loki sighed, the reluctant lie like ash in his mouth. “Yes, I am here. All is well.”

It served its purpose at least; Thor calmed almost immediately, his limbs falling limp with exhaustion and his face losing some of the tight anguish brought on by the fever’s heat. If only it were so easy to quell his brother at other times, Loki mused.

With Thor thus comforted, Loki allowed himself a moment’s weakness. Clasping his hands together, he brought his forehead down to rest against the lines of his wrists, the temporary darkness the movement afforded soothing his tired eyes. A long breath sighed from him, the slow inhale that followed centering him.

It was time to get up. He had countless others to tend to, orders to give, a ship to run. The hours to come promised no rest and little peace, and prolonging the inevitable would do nothing to speed its conclusion. To take even two more minutes was to delay the day’s end.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear this, but you should probably take a break.”

An involuntary jerk that Loki was unable to suppress awoke the dormant throbbing at the back of his skull. Ordinarily he did not startle easily, making it his business to be vigilant of his immediate surroundings and the people occupying them. That the owner of the voice could take him unawares spoke more to his condition than Loki was quite prepared to acknowledge.

“And you should have a care for who you creep up on,” he said tightly, reluctant still to surface from the comforting dark.

Straightening only enough to allow him to turn his head, he levelled a dark look on the man behind him. Bruce raised both palms in a placating gesture, but irritatingly did not take even a single step back in retreat. Either Loki was losing his edge, or he really did appear as harmless and ineffective as his exhaustion was making him feel.

Bruce indicated Thor’s prostrate form with his chin. “How’s he doing?”

Loki dragged a hand down his face before replying. “Much the same as the others. Delusional. Occasionally combative. Generally insufferable. If I didn’t think such a scheme beyond his simple mind, I’d swear he was putting it on just to spite me.”

Bruce looked back at him oddly and was curiously gentle when he said, “Thor’s strong. It’s going to take more than this to keep him down.”

Loki grit his teeth. He could see what Bruce was doing. The infuriating creature was _handling_ him.

Forcing himself to remain cordial, he kept his tone even. “Yes. It will pass.”

“Harder to watch when it’s him though, right?”

This was not an avenue of conversation Loki was prepared to wander so casually down. And certainly not with Banner of all people — a relative stranger who would have counted himself among Loki’s enemies not so long ago. It was a clumsy attempt to find common ground at best, an emotionally manipulative gambit to invite Loki to confide sensitive information at worst. And if there was anything Loki was confident about, it was the potential for sentiment to be turned against one’s best interests.

He saw the mistake register in the way Bruce’s good-natured smile began to falter, and like the scent of blood to a wolf the weakness stirred a cruelty in Loki that he’d never had trouble calling forth.

“And what exactly are you doing for him, hmm? Or for any one of the poor wretches writhing about in their own filth in the corridor outside? You would call yourself a healer and yet you could hardly be more ineffective. Whether Thor lives or dies it will be no thanks to you.”

The beats of silence that followed were a rebuke Loki didn’t need.

“Wow,” Bruce countered with an unimpressed drawl. “That was low, even for you.”

Loki produced a humourless smile. “Low or not, it was on the mark.”

“Uh huh. Look, if you didn’t want to answer the question, you could have just said so. Or better yet said nothing at all.”

Ridiculous. Where would have been the sport in that? Instead Loki said, “And perhaps you should refrain from passing comment on things you clearly know nothing about.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Tell me, just how long have you been acquainted with my brother, exactly? Or with me, for that matter? You are overfamiliar.”

Again Bruce raised his hands, and again Loki got the distinct impression he was being indulged. “You know what,” Bruce agreed graciously, angling his head in apology, “you’re right. It’s none of my business.”

Several moments of strained silence passed before the man felt it appropriate to air his opinions once more. “I really do think he’s going to be okay, though. The progression of his symptoms aren’t throwing up anything I think we need to be too worried about. We’ve just got to wait this thing out.”

The reassuring little smile Bruce produced after delivering this series of contrived platitudes did nothing to soothe Loki’s rising ire. He narrowed his eyes, the discomfort at his temples driving him towards further unkindnesses.

“Such confidence. What is it you keep telling me, over and over?” Loki let his voice shift, the timbre and speech pattern becoming the perfect imitation of Bruce’s own. “‘I’m not that kind of doctor.’”

“You’re right. I’m not. But I do have some experience, and right now I’m the best you’ve got.”

“Comforting.”

Bruce returned a hard look that said he was not in the least bit intimidated by Loki or his sneer. He remained controlled as he spoke in his own defence. “What I’m doing is exactly that, actually. Comforting people. Giving them hope. Because that’s exactly what they need right now, even if I can’t give them much more than that.”

Loki snorted. “What they _need_ are practical solutions, not to be coddled and well-wished. You waste your time ministering to their feelings when it would be better spent actually achieving something.”

It seemed that last salvo was to be the one to win the argument. Bruce’s expression finally soured, the cheer knocked out of him at last.

“Oh for crying out— I’m just trying my best here. But if you don’t want my help that’s fine.” Bruce almost turned to walk away, as though too disgusted by Loki’s words to want to continue. Then he changed his mind and turned back, much to Loki’s chagrin. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” he continued, apparently oblivious to his own words. “Why can’t you just let other people help you like a normal person? Would it kill you to not be an asshole for two minutes?”

Loki rose from his seat to loom over the man. Doing so had never failed to have the desired effect before now. “Have a care how you speak, Midgardian.”

Perhaps it was a sign of the stress Bruce had been under, but for once he did not back down. His face betrayed real anger. Loki almost regretted inviting the challenge; he lacked both the enthusiasm and the energy for a real fight.

“Oh come on,” Bruce said, impatient and prepared to voice it. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Loki sniffed, moving to leave. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do. Acting like you don’t give a shit. Like nobody matters to you. We both know you’re full of crap, so why bother? Aren’t you tired of this game? ‘Cause I sure—”

“That’s enough,” Loki snapped, cutting the man off before he could build up any more momentum.

Bruce fell silent, a look of stony disapproval settling onto his face. Loki couldn’t bear to look at it. If the man hadn’t stepped to the side in time, Loki would have clipped his shoulder as he marched from the room.

He told himself as he strode that he was not fleeing. Instead he focussed his efforts on nursing the lingering thread of resentment that seemed the one emotion that made sense in this whole ungodly mess. He was angry with Bruce for his rude health, for his ineffectual fussing, for his plain, straightforward humanity, and while a not inconsiderable part of Loki knew perfectly well that the blame was misplaced, it was easier to let his thoughts remain caught up in the injustice of it all than to parse his feelings further.

Loki was at least self-aware enough to recognise the core of the issue. He wasn’t entirely ignorant of the uncomfortable parallels to be drawn between himself and his irritating new ally.

It would appear Loki’s unique ancestry provided some immunity from the illness sweeping the ship. It seemed Bruce was also to remain unaffected, though Loki suspected this was by virtue of the green beast’s robust nature rather than the plucky resilience common to most humans.

They obviously had that in common, the two of them. The unlooked-for protection of monster’s blood. The native resistance of animals. The unclean fortitude of beasts.

The afflicted were however many, and despite the man’s every effort, Bruce was wilting quickly with exhaustion. With only a mortal’s stamina and the sick in the hundreds, much of the burden of care fell to Loki and those few yet to succumb entirely to the worst of the illness.

Loki would die before he’d admit it, but as the weeks stretched on and his reserves of patience diminished, he was beginning to fear that he may not be quite up to the task. And very soon, he expected he’d be left as the sole caretaker of this floating plague-carrier. Pushing aside the panic that thought threatened to stir, he wondered darkly what flavour of scorn he would receive this time when he inevitably failed to pass muster.

* * *

Bruce sighed with the long-sufferance of the repeatedly put upon and pinched at his eyes to persuade some of the tension there to disperse. The speed with which Loki had fled the room stirred a small ember of guilt that wasn’t quite dampened by his righteous irritation.

He hadn’t meant to do that. He reassured himself with the knowledge that Loki could draw an argument out of anything, and that no matter how Bruce had handled this, the outcome was likely to have been the same. That didn’t make his failure any easier to accept, or Loki’s behaviour any more endearing.

“Is he always like this?” Bruce asked the other remaining occupant of the room, but Thor’s slightly laboured breathing was the only response he received.

He sighed.

Checking Thor’s vitals with almost automatic efficiency — a combination of habit, necessity and more recent practice than he would have liked — Bruce reassured himself that what he’d told Loki was the truth. Thor was resting as comfortably as could reasonably be expected at this stage in his illness. With any luck he would soon begin to regain some lucidity. Perhaps not long after that he could be moved back to the private quarters he shared with his brother.

He was almost ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but that was something Bruce secretly prayed for above all else. He didn’t wish sickness on anyone, of course he didn’t, and no patient of his was favoured above any other when it came to the care he could give, but he was not above a silent hope that Thor would be one of the first to recover. If not for Bruce’s own sake then for the whole ship’s, and for Loki’s, too.

Satisfied that there was little more he could do for the moment, Bruce left instructions with the bay’s shift lead and went in search of a meal. By his calculations he’d been awake for at least 24 hours now, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He suspected worse of Loki, but he knew better than to broach that subject again, for the time being at least.

There would be other opportunities. The way things were going, he anticipated more days like this to come, and for things to get worse before they got better.

The Valkyrie had been the first to fall sick. The trading party she’d accompanied planet-side had followed her into delirium not long after. By that point they’d long left their rest stop behind, a hangar full of provisions and an invisible contagion already circulating among the populace. Within a day of the first symptoms manifesting their scant medical facilities were overwhelmed, and Bruce estimated that within a week the sick were in the hundreds.

Asgardians were robust, it was true, but they were ill-equipped and almost painfully inexperienced when it came to dealing with the sick. Apparently sickness was rare in a society of hale and long-lived beings, and to encounter a pathogen they could not immediately identify and treat was unheard of. They withstood for some time symptoms Bruce had no doubt would quickly overwhelm human patients, the progression from symptomatic to critical protracted and faced bravely, but the sheer tenacity of the illness was enough over time to erode even the strongest patient’s defences.

With the dispassionate cruelty of disease, the elders were most susceptible. It was difficult to watch husbands bathe the faces of wives while burning with the onset of fever themselves, harder still to comfort the children left untouched while their family around them were held fast in the grip of illness. It had disrupted the fragile order that the ship and her passengers had only recently established since their exodus, the sudden absence of cooks, qualified healers, engineers and navigators leaving others less experienced to pick up the pieces.

It had struck down first Valkyrie, then Heimdall, and now Thor himself. And now it was leaving more orphans in its wake.

Losing people was without question the hardest. Loki took it hard when this happened, becoming all the more brusque and ill-tempered for every life lost. Bruce was well aware he offered an easy target for Loki’s despair, but that did not necessarily make it any easier to bear. The irony was that Bruce genuinely believed Loki simply forgot just who he was talking to when he tested Bruce’s patience; the intention was simply to frighten Bruce away, not push Hulk’s buttons.

It was clearly just a part of who Loki was. He responded badly to pressure and had an alarmingly underdeveloped skill set when it came to dealing with stress. For someone who could be so fucking imperious at times, he was also deeply insecure about his own ability to lead. It was as though he expected criticism and so invited it, going out of his way to draw attention to his less admirable qualities in an attempt to deflect from those he was less confident about. It was transparent. It was a little bit sad. And it was incredibly annoying.

Despite all that, Bruce could hardly fault the guy for his frustration. In truth there was little Bruce could do beyond offering the most basic of care for the many patients overwhelming the makeshift infirmary he had tried to pull together. Hulk, for all his faults, had taken a back seat voluntarily. Bruce could only hope that sacrifice would not be for nothing.

The _Statesman_ was not equipped with anything even approaching a proper medical bay, and what few supplies the fleeing peoples of Asgard had brought on board were swiftly running out. Loki hadn’t quite scoffed at Bruce’s attempt to fashion IVs and sterile needles from what materials he could find, but it was clear he thought the procedure primitive and what limited medical guidance Bruce could provide to be laughably basic. The drips went some way towards keeping some of the most critical patients hydrated at least, and for that Bruce earned some grudging approval from Loki in the end.

And Bruce at least had some entry-level understanding of triage, not to mention directing a team of assistants.

Fluids were top of the list and kept most of Bruce’s staff of volunteers busy. Keeping temperatures manageable and patients comfortable came a close second. And between all this was the cleaning and sterilisation, the washing of linens, the rotation of flagging staff. Even the youngest children had been enlisted to sew face coverings and protective garments for those whose duties brought them into close contact with the infected.

Loki, seemingly content to leave the mopping of brows and all-night vigils to others, took on an administrative role that Bruce was pleased to discover he was pretty good at. Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The allocation of duties, the rationing, the day-to-day running of the ship, the mediation of conflict and the forward planning required to keep supplies circulating — all of that seemed to happen as if by magic, and not the literal kind Bruce knew Loki was capable of. Together they made a good team, partly because they also stayed out of each other’s way.

As for Bruce himself, short of the sort of equipment that would even approach what was necessary to start to identify or control the pathogen, he devoted much of his time to cataloging symptoms, improving upon his chances of making an earlier diagnosis, and establishing a quarantine procedure that would help slow the almost inevitable spread of the illness throughout the entire ship.

But spread it did. Currently there were more people out of commission than there were healthy, and for those who survived the most dangerous first few days, recovery was slow. The fact that the illness targeted adults otherwise in the peak of health just exacerbated their problems.

A cramp of hunger broke Bruce from his reverie and reminded him of his current goal. One thing at a time, that was the key. And at least this was a problem he could easily solve.

* * *

The woman’s hands were cool to the touch.

This was often the way as the end approached, the fever having burnt itself so bright and fierce that it consumed itself to the last. Her skin felt paper thin, the delicate bones of each finger sharp against his gentle grip.

Loki ran the pads of his fingers across the woman’s palm in a repetitive caress, the motion seeming to calm her as she gazed lovingly into the weathered face of her late husband. He allowed a soft smile to warm those same features and she relaxed into a weak one of her own, eyes shining. The words he murmured to her mimicked the oft repeated reassurances he had witnessed others sharing with loved ones, and despite what little he knew of this woman and her family they seemed to hold some meaning for her.

Or perhaps the words were nonsense, her ability to understand long since past. Perhaps she simply took comfort from the voice that had been her companion for centuries untold, a voice she had been without these last several weeks. Her husband had been one of the first lost. Only now was she prepared to accept a lie and to take comfort in it.

Fatigue was stealing in to claim her, the sickness reasserting itself again. A troubled frown creased her brow as what little lucidity she had regained faded, and Loki allowed the glamour to fall. She began weakly to toss her head, a plaintive sound of pain returning all that she could utter.

He reached a hand to her brow and unlocked for her a place of peace at the very heart of her vast years of memory, and while he had no wish to pry into the life and family of a stranger he was never able to entirely prevent the bleed through of emotion and memory which always accompanied such an act. The woman’s struggles eased as the pain left her, her breathing evening out, and when her eyes closed she reposed almost serene.

Of all the memories he had been able to give the dying these past few weeks, this was by far the most peaceful. More often than not, the men and women he had attended had taken comfort from scenes of triumph on the battlefield, or tournaments well fought, of raucous feasting or joyous play. So rarely did a simple scene of homely pleasures, of everyday moments shared, make up the very heart of an Asgardian’s sense of self and wellbeing. That this woman sought a simple reminiscence of her family joined together in quiet appreciation of each other’s company stirred something in Loki that tightened his throat.

Loki sat by the nameless woman’s side for some minutes more until satisfied that she would rest now without need of anything further. Her time was near.

The aids would shortly be returning to this bay to make their rounds. He needed to move now if he was to avoid their inevitable questions.

He must have stood too quickly because his vision crowded in for a moment and he had to throw out a hand to catch himself on the chair he’d just vacated. He breathed slowly and the feeling passed. Perhaps he was overstretching himself just a tad.

He resolved to go in search of water and perhaps something slightly more substantial. But when he turned his steps immediately faltered. With a chilly wave of unease he realised he had an audience, although how much Bruce had seen it was hard to say.

Bruce said nothing. He was leaning against the wall of the corridor outside, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle hooked over the other. His expression was inscrutable, but Loki felt his ears heating all the same.

Yet there was no smugness, no sarcasm, no mocking archness for the self-professed sceptic caught in the act. In fact there came no comment at all. Bruce simply watched him for a few moments longer, then pushed himself off from the wall and continued on his way, not so much as an eyebrow raised in Loki’s direction.

Loki almost missed the derision he deserved. At least he’d have known what to do with it.

* * *

As was becoming the pattern of late, Banner inserted himself neatly back into Loki’s activities and used them as a cover to initiate an unwanted dialogue. The man was an insufferable busybody and poor at hiding it.

“That was a nice thing you did,” he said without preamble, not even glancing at Loki as he joined him at the table, a dish of this evening’s rations already being readied for the journey to his mouth.

Loki pushed his own away from immediate olfactory range, his already struggling appetite thoroughly doused by the prospect of yet more analysis of his emotional state.

“It was no real kindness,” Loki replied, leaning back tiredly in his seat. “It was but a fiction. A liar’s trick.”

“To comfort a dying woman. It was a white lie, not a harmful one.”

“A lie nonetheless.”

Bruce glanced up at him then, chewing thoughtfully. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Your, you know.” Bruce wiggled his fingers around the handle of the spoon in his grip. “What does it feel like when you do that?”

Loki sighed. He briefly considered not answering and watched as Bruce efficiently devoured the entirety of his small meal. “It does not feel like anything. You may just as well ask what it feels like to breathe. I am not conscious of it.”

Bruce nodded, distracted. “You gonna eat that?” Bruce jabbed at Loki’s discarded plate with his utensil. Loki mutely shook his head. Bruce pulled the unfinished meal towards himself and dug in with an enthusiasm Loki envied. “I often see you around. Out late. Thought maybe you were something of a night owl.”

Loki frowned. He wasn’t sure he was catching the man’s drift. Bruce looked up from the spoonful of food he was examining and met Loki’s eyes with a knowing gaze.

“Then I started paying more attention. You’re working through the day too.”

Loki felt his lips compress into a thin line without his permission. Once again he was losing control of the conversation, a dull anxious feeling fluttering in his chest as a result. He did not know why he felt as he did. As though caught at some indiscretion. As though compromised, found out.

“There is much to be done, and in case you haven’t noticed, few of us left to do it.”

The prevarication did little to steer Bruce off course. Without so much as blinking, the man quirked a brief smile, brought his food to his mouth, and continued to talk around it, never taking his eyes from Loki’s face. Mortifyingly, Loki felt heat rising up his neck to be so studied.

“How many?” Bruce asked, his delivery blunt. Loki didn’t bother to feign ignorance of his meaning, but that didn’t mean he had to entertain this ridiculous line of questioning by responding to it. When he didn’t reply, Bruce carefully and deliberately lowered his utensil to the table, placing it squarely next to his meal. He studied it for a moment and his voice was lowered when he said, “It’s all of them, isn’t it?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Loki returned with as much quiet dignity as he could manage, but there was no heat in it. He felt entirely drained of the false affront that had been fuelling his encounters with Bruce these last few weeks.

“Loki…”

“It is the very least I can do.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, his eyes closing of their own accord as though to deny the truth of them as they were spoken. “It is _all_ I can do. It is all that is within my power to offer because I am powerless to do anything else. Is that what you want to hear? I have destroyed the only home I have ever known and now I am cursed to watch its remnants crumble between my fingers.”

Worthless. He could not even die as one of them.

He was almost afraid to open his eyes, to have to witness the look of horror Bruce would have for him now. They betrayed him though, flashing a nervous glance to the man opposite despite his better instincts.

There was no censure there, however. No. It was worse than that. Bruce’s eyes held only compassion, and something bordering dangerously close to pity.

He couldn’t bear it. He rose to leave — to flee, _again_ , coward that he was — and snatched his arm swiftly from Bruce’s grasp as the man leaned forward to reach for him.

“Loki, wait.”

“I have work to do.”

“I know, I know. I get it. Just… Do me a favour, will you?”

Loki paused, impatient for the man to get on with it and ask so he could escape this interminable torture.

“Get some rest, okay?” Bruce said, the earnestness in his eyes painful to look at. Perhaps sensing such a display would not in itself inure Loki to his request, he softened it with an attempt at humour. “You’re no good to me dead on your feet, and God knows I need all the help I can get around here.”

Appealing to his dormant sense of nobility, or perhaps simply his vanity, was a cheap trick, but a well-meaning one. Loki reminded himself that Bruce wasn’t quite at his best at the moment, either.

“Very well,” he conceded with the slightest tip of his head, a gesture that seemed to reassure Bruce no end. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

The relief he felt to escape that scrutiny was rather pathetic, but he refused to examine it further.

* * *

“Doctor Banner?”

Bruce came to with a jolt, his stiff neck telegraphing its complaints loudly as it was required to shift back so suddenly to a more natural position. He raised his face and blinked blearily, a sheet of paper clinging to his left cheek.

He’d fallen asleep at his makeshift desk again. Patient records were spread out in front of him, a cup of some long-abandoned beverage sitting untouched to one side. He peeled the page from his face and rubbed clumsily at his skin, hoping the ink hadn’t transferred. He could imagine how awful he must look: red-rimmed eyes, his face creased where he’d rested it against his arms, the bristles of his unshaven face making him look older in the way it always did for his father.

His assessment of his appearance was confirmed in the look of tentative concern being directed at him. The young woman (who was probably older than Bruce by several centuries; he was still struggling to get his head around that) was one of the fourth shift aids pressed into service over the last few weeks. Inga, was it? Or something like that? He struggled to remember. She was one of the older recruits — young enough still that it seemed she might escape infection, but old enough to act in a leading capacity among the small army of child nurses it had become necessary to train.

She wore a cloth mask over her nose and mouth and her hair was covered. She was clearly still on duty.

Bruce smiled up at her, too tired to be embarrassed about the situation she had found him in. He asked her what time it was, thinking perhaps she’d come to usher him to his bed, and she shook her head at him.

“Please, come quickly.”

The urgency in her tone brought his foggy mind into sharper focus and he rose to follow her from the room. He ran through the list of critical patients in his mind as he hurried after her, pushing his fingers through his mussed hair and straightening his shirt as he did so. There were three, maybe four whose symptoms were progressing to a critical stage, but they’d remained stable for much of the night. He’d been confident they would pull through, but perhaps that had changed. He mentally prepared himself for the worst, his mind already working to devise a next round of treatment should it be needed.

The girl however led him straight past the bay they used for treatment of the most serious cases, and continued along the corridor towards the rooms set aside for those out of immediate danger. Bruce felt his skin flush cold, a finger of unprofessional dread slipping down his spine. Heimdall and Valkyrie had been stable for some time. Were improving, in fact. And Thor… Surely not Thor.

He picked up his pace, branching corridors, airlocks and hatches flashing past him in a bewildering, maze-like tangle. He almost always had to ask for an escort whenever he left the areas at the core of his work; no matter how many times he took these routes he just couldn’t seem to commit them to memory. He told himself that was because he was busy and distracted and that it had nothing to do with a life-long lack of spacial awareness. He really disliked living up to the absent-minded professor image his friends (or, more accurately, Tony) were known to tease him with.

They encountered few people as they made their way towards the ship’s central quarters; it was late, and this part of the ship served its command centre, the bridge and the private chambers of the most high ranking officers. They must have passed the turn to the medical facilities a ways back.

Bruce slowed with a frown, finally getting his bearings as they approached a familiar intersection. He’d been called upon to sit on the ship’s council on those few occasions they’d convened before the illness sweeping the ship had knocked all attempts at routine for six. He remembered the way now that he was here.

He paused when his guide took a turn, continuing on towards the bridge. “Um, isn’t it this way?” he called after her, a thumb over his shoulder.

Rather than reply, the girl beckoned him to follow and quickly hurried from sight through a large set of doors. Warily, Bruce followed.

He entered onto the bridge through the doors at its bow and was once more reminded of the scale of the vessel he travelled on. Compared to other rooms the bridge was cavernous, its view of the cosmos beyond lending the space a vastness that chased the lingering feeling of claustrophobia from Bruce’s mind. The chill and echo of the room were noticeable now that it was almost entirely empty of people.

His guide stood a short distance from him and had joined two other youngsters already in the room. They stood in a tight circle, heads bent together in quiet conversation, all of them shifting nervously. All three cast worried glances towards the view at the stern, and when Bruce turned to discern the source of their worry he felt his stomach sink.

There was the thud of a fist being brought down onto a surface in anger, and an abortive curse Bruce could not translate. The three young people flinched as one and directed a pleading look at him. He took a breath.

“It’s okay,” he told them. “I’ll talk to him.” It said something about Bruce’s status among the Asgardians that not only had they turned to him as the obvious choice to stage an intervention, but that they also appeared visibly reassured by his words. He held back a sigh.

Bruce approached slowly, crossing the expanse towards the ship’s main controls with a calm assurance he hoped didn’t come off as caution. When he’d mounted the main dias he made a show of admiring the unendingly awesome spectacle of space through the viewscreen and didn’t bother to conceal the habitual wringing of his hands.

“Hey, Loki,” he said with a casualness he didn’t feel. “How’s it going?”

If Loki noticed Bruce’s presence, he made no sign. He was standing with his head slightly bent, his back to the room, his focus entirely on some task before him.

Now that he was level with them, Bruce could make out a series of displays Loki had pulled up on the consoles around him. Incomprehensible streams of data scrolled past, as did star charts and what appeared to be schematics of some kind. A blueprint of what Bruce guessed to be one of the ship’s main escape pods rotated slowly in the centre of them all.

Bruce glanced sidelong at Loki’s face, trying not to make his assessment obvious. “What are you, um…”

It took him a moment to realise that one of the displays he’d been looking at wasn’t paired with any of the equipment in front of him. The green-gold shimmer of Loki’s magic rippled across his senses as he peered more closely at it. Loki seemed almost to be writing something in the air before him, or perhaps drawing it, though in what language Bruce couldn’t begin to guess. Loki’s movements were sharp and fast, almost frantic, and with a growl of frustration he erased a section he had just finished with a sweep of his fingers. Further gestures and twists of his wrist manipulated and contorted the image, his intense focus absorbed entirely by his work.

“Oh. You’re, uh… Okay then.”

Bruce looked back over his shoulder at the trio of nervous onlookers, hoping for clarification. One of them simply shrugged their shoulders at him. “Right,” he said under his breath.

He turned his attention back to Loki and really looked at him.

Loki looked… not great. But then none of them had been in peak condition for several long, arduous weeks. He had that pinched, exhausted look he’d been carrying for some time now, but which was now animated by high spots of colour on his cheekbones and wide, fever-bright eyes.

The squirrely behaviour, that was... new. So was the faint sheen of sweat across the skin of Loki’s face. It was also the first time Bruce had seen him out of his armour or leathers since… well, ever. Loki wore only a thin shirt that was hanging open at the collar, clearly a concession to the heat he was giving off. Bruce didn’t need to touch him to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, even without getting close. Glancing down, Bruce noticed that Loki had his left hand braced against the work surface in front of him and was clutching it with a white-knuckled grip.

“Listen, Loki,” he tried. “Can you stop for a second?”

Loki continued to ignore him, if anything picking up the pace of his work.

“Hey. _Hey_. Can you hear me?”

When Loki still didn’t respond, Bruce raised a cautious hand to draw away Loki’s own from the image he was manipulating. Loki shook him off with a sharp movement of his arm, but without really appearing to register the action. He continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted and began muttering something under his breath, although Bruce couldn’t make out what it was.

Bruce frowned. He was fairly confident Loki wouldn't _try_ to hurt him, but it was pretty clear he risked collateral damage if he inadvertently got in the way of whatever the hell this was. Bruce instead turned his attention to the nearest control panel and eyed it thoughtfully. A myriad of brightly coloured symbols and flickering lights chased one another across its surface without any discernible pattern, and apparently without any obvious buttons, levers or switches to go at. When he hovered his hand above them, a number of them snapped intuitively to his fingers, responding to every movement of his wrist.

He splayed his fingers and watched as the symbols followed them, new commands appearing beneath each pad of his fingers as he flexed them. He had absolutely no clue what any of them did, but from what little he had witnessed of Valkyrie’s technique when taking the controls he had a vague idea of the basics. He just hoped he wouldn’t break anything crucial. Or kill them all.

“Well, here goes,” he said mostly to himself. He made a fist and pulled, scattering the bracelet of lights that had formed up his forearm as he did so. The main display folded into itself as he did, the picture going dark.

That seemed to have some effect. Loki stopped what he was doing and turned, a frown forming slowly across his features. When he moved to approach Bruce’s console, Bruce stepped in front of him with his hands held palms out.

“Hey, woah. Loki. Stop.”

Loki blinked at him, recognition apparently secondary to figuring out what outside force had interrupted his process. He swayed slightly but finally fixed his gaze on Bruce’s face.

“Bruce.”

“Yeah. Welcome back.”

Loki blinked at him a couple more times, confusion stealing over his face. Bruce leaned forward slightly to peer into his face. “You with me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. That’s good. I need you to come with me, alright?”

Loki shook his head jerkily. “He’s coming.”

“Who’s coming, Loki?”

“We have to be ready. I have to…”

Bruce waited a moment, but Loki seemed to have lost his train of thought. “You have to...“ Bruce prompted. “You have to get something ready? Something with the ship?”

“Something with the ship,” Loki repeated dully, his eyes losing some of their focus. “Yes.”

Bruce wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, or whether Loki even properly understood what he was saying. The guy was starting to take little panting breaths.

“Alright,” Bruce tried with some attempt to inject a note of authority into his voice. “Well, I think that’s enough for now.” He moved again to put an encouraging hand on Loki’s arm, but Loki pulled it back from Bruce’s reach with a quiet, “no.”

Bruce again brought his hands up, prepared to step back if he needed to, but the gesture was unnecessary. Loki stilled suddenly, winced and screwed up his eyes, an unhappy hiss escaping through his teeth. Behind him, the image he had conjured into being flickered and dissipated. Loki once again braced himself with one hand against the console next to him, the other moving up to press at his eyes.

Bruce gave him a significant look that was entirely wasted. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked pointedly.

After several moments to collect himself, Loki eventually flapped a dismissive hand at him but didn’t open his eyes. “I’m perfectly… perfectly…”

Bruce allowed a sigh to release, confident Loki wouldn’t notice. “Uh huh. Never been better. Got it.”

This was going nowhere fast. He reached again to take Loki’s elbow in an attempt to bodily steer him away from the consoles, and was immediately reminded of how hopelessly outmatched he was in this world of inhuman strength and fantastical powers. Loki didn’t fight him, didn’t so much as twitch, in fact, but he was as immovable as granite. Bruce may as well have tried to cajole the bulkhead to move by giving it a polite tug. “Why don’t we take a break for a bit, huh?” he tried anyway.

Loki ignored the hand on his arm. “I’m not finished,” he complained weakly, sounding distracted. His face had an anxious, anguished look that Bruce wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

“I really think you are, buddy.” The overly familiar epithet slipped out before he could stop himself, but a small part of Bruce almost grieved to know he could not expect the usual waspish command this time.

( _Do not call me that._

 _Whatever you say, pal_.)

“You don’t understand,” Loki insisted instead in a whisper, and Bruce struggled to keep the dismay from his face.

Time for a different approach. “You’re worrying the kids. Look.” Bruce indicated the three young people still hovering at the back of the room, hushed and with eyes wide. Loki actually turned to cast an unfocussed gaze in their direction, and the three of them hurriedly bowed their heads.

Bruce tried more of a teasing, conspiratorial tone. “I think they’re a bit afraid to say anything, but they’re freaking out.”

“Freaking… out?”

“Yeah, you know, not sure what to do. To help, I mean. They’re shy around you. And scared to do the wrong thing. You’re kinda a big deal around here, I guess.”

“It is not me they should fear,” Loki murmured, entirely missing the point Bruce was trying to make and managing to sound ominous all in one go. Bruce elected not to tackle that statement head on.

“Listen. What I’m saying is, they need you to set an example. They look up to you. They’re looking to you to show them what to do.”

“I’m trying…”

“I know you are. I see that. But what they need right now is to know you’re looking after yourself, too. Remember what we talked about?”

The way his brow was furrowed suggested to Bruce that maybe he didn’t, but on second thought that was perhaps just as well. He needed Loki to cooperate with him, and he was unlikely to do that if he thought there was any suggestion from Bruce that he was betraying weakness.

“So what do you say? Shall we get out of here for a bit? Come back to this later?”

Loki directed his wavering attention somewhere towards the middle distance at Bruce’s shoulder, but he did allow the pressure of Bruce’s grip to turn him just slightly. “Yes…”

Bruce released a breath. “Good. There you go. Come on.” With a little more pressure, he persuaded Loki to release his hold of the console in front of him and to take a step away. Loki stumbled slightly on the step down from the platform and Bruce gasped as slightly more weight than he was quite prepared for bore down on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Loki muttered absently to his feet as they regained their balance. Bruce couldn’t help the incredulous look that inspired.

Their audience looked torn between rushing to help and keeping a respectful distance, and Bruce took pity on them with a bright smile. “It’s alright,” he called to them, trying not to sound strained. “I’ve got this. You can go back to your work now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The three looked dubious but also somewhat relieved to be given instructions from someone in authority. It struck Bruce yet again just how wedded this society was to its hierarchical structure, and just how much of the focus had been on those at the top of it to keep it all in check. He supposed any group of people that found themselves suddenly without leadership would flounder, especially where those left were barely out of childhood themselves, but it seemed to him a sure way to invite disaster if those at the top were not on their game.

Bruce guided Loki down the remaining steps, the heat pouring from him searing Bruce’s side where it was pressed against him. “Jeez, you’re burning up,” he huffed, but Loki didn’t respond.

It became quickly apparent that the journey to the medical bays was going to be impossible with Loki in this condition and with only Bruce’s human strength to manage him. Instead he steered them both towards Thor and Loki’s quarters in the hope he could make a start on an assessment there and call in help later. Luckily it seemed a direction Loki was more than happy to take, the familiarity of routine perhaps guiding his steps without conscious thought.

Bruce kept up a one-sided commentary as they walked and tried his best not to let the strain of Loki’s weight enter his voice. “Almost there, you’re doing great,” he said at one point, with more optimism than was perhaps warranted. He wasn’t quite clear himself for whose benefit exactly that statement was made.

Only halfway to the quarters, Bruce had to revise his plan once again. Loki listed to one side, pulling Bruce along with him, and the pair of them stumbled several steps before Bruce was able to plant his feet and prevent them both falling.

This wasn’t going to work.

“Okay, plan C it is.”

An intersection of passageways offered at least a small chance that someone would happen by, so Bruce steered Loki towards a small alcove just off one branch that at least provided a low bench on which to sit.

When Loki registered the new destination he drew them up short, casting about with feverish intensity.

“Where’s…?”

Bruce gave up trying to physically persuade Loki to take those last few steps. “We’re just gonna take five. We’re not far, but I need a breather. Come on.”

Loki shook his head. “No. Thor. Where’s Thor?”

Bruce could see where this was going. “Thor’s not here right now, remember?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a problem,” Bruce said under his breath. Then, more patiently, “Why don’t you sit down for a minute while I fetch us something to drink.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at that, but after some indecision finally condescended to be guided to the bench. He dropped heavily onto it, a glazed look about him that told Bruce all he needed to know about the stage the fever was at. He was going to need ice, and soon.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Bruce ordered. He jogged ahead to the main quarters, scanning every corridor and room as he passed for signs of life. Just as his journey up here had been, the place was deserted. He’d never needed to learn how to use the comms points helpfully installed at strategic points along his route, either.

 _Shouldn’t have sent those kids away, Banner_. So much for sparing Loki’s royal dignity.

He found canisters of drinking water in Thor and Loki’s quarters. He scavenged a cloth from a pile of discarded laundry and wet that too. He returned to find Loki with his head tipped back against the wall, tendrils of hair stuck flat to his flushed skin.

“Here you go,” Bruce announced as he pressed the water into Loki’s lax fingers, encouraging him to grip the canister. He then draped the wet cloth over the back of Loki’s neck.

“Where is Thor?” Loki asked him again, oblivious to all this.

“He’ll be here real soon. Drink that for me, please.”

Loki did so, absently at first, then with more interest, and Bruce chalked himself up yet another unexpected victory.

Casting a critical eye at the corridors around him, Bruce considered his next steps. He was going to need help to move Loki any further than this, but he couldn’t leave him alone for long to summon it, or to call for the supplies he was going to need to help bring down his temperature and keep him calm. He didn’t fancy his chances when it came to trying to restrain an Asgardian in the grip of delirium, and the procedure they’d developed for just this situation relied on a number of hands being available. Most recently of course, two of those hands had been Loki’s own.

Bruce’s only real tools here were his words, and he’d have to rely on Loki’s remaining sense of reason if he was going to help him. His track record lately did not bode well.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He lowered himself onto his haunches in front of Loki and made sure he had his attention. It was wavering in and out, but Bruce would have to work with what he had. “You’re going to finish that, and I’m going to go flag down a couple of folks. I’ll be as quick as I can, but I’m going to need you to stay here, alright? Do not move from this spot.”

Loki gazed back at Bruce blankly, sweat glistening at his hairline.

“It’s too hot.”

“I know, buddy. We’re going to get you cooled down, just as soon as we can. I promise. But I gotta go get someone first.”

Bruce rose to leave but was halted by a hand at his sleeve.

“I need to find Thor.”

 _Lord give me strength_. “And he’ll know just where to find you, as long as you wait right here.”

Loki drew his eyebrows together but released his grip on Bruce’s sleeve. He seemed to notice the cloth at his neck and tugged at it impatiently.

“No, leave that where it— Okay, you don’t want it. That’s fine too, but I really think it would be a better idea to... Hey, wait. No no no. Where are you— Loki! Hold up!”

Ignoring him entirely throughout, Loki dragged himself unsteadily to his feet and brushed Bruce aside with the barest amount of force. It seemed he’d decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Shit,” Bruce cursed to himself, following in Loki’s wake as he lurched his way deeper into the ship, one shoulder clipping the corridor wall each time he veered off course.

They almost made it to Thor and Loki’s quarters when Loki stopped, a hand halfway to his head, a sharp expression of pain baring his teeth in a grimace.

Bruce could see what was about to happen. His warning came too late.

“Be careful, you’re gonna—”

Before Bruce could reach him Loki took two staggered steps sideways, pivoted slightly and put a hand out to catch himself. He missed the wall altogether and fell forward into empty space. When the side of his face connected with the doorframe the force of the impact snapped his head back, and the clang it produced echoed loudly down the corridor long before the rest of him hit the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something pressing uncomfortably in the dead centre of a very tender bruise on his face. The pressure would ease temporarily only to return with more force, and then whatever was causing the assault would move to swipe mercilessly across a stinging wound through his eyebrow.

It was just unpleasant enough to rouse Loki from complete insensibility, and even when he tried to turn his head from range the contact did not stop. He raised a hand to push the thing away and was thwarted by a grip at his wrist which redirected his efforts.

“You really did a number on yourself,” a voice chided from somewhere above him.

Loki winced. A trickle of water snaked its way over his ear and into his hairline, the sensation strange but not entirely unwelcome. There was also a chilly coolness at the back of his neck and under each arm, more of it hugging the sides of his body. It was a sharp counterpoint to the sticky heat flushing his skin and threatening to plunge him straight back into the muzzy dark he had surfaced from. He wasn’t entirely sure whether to be grateful for the relief or annoyed that it was helping to draw him towards wakefulness. He was very tired.

He had a vague impression of people moving around him and snatches of conversation taking place. The sounds had the muted quality of dreams only half understood; he felt quite removed from them. This did not strike him as being as unusual as perhaps it should.

Someone made a request of another nearby. Thanks were exchanged. Instructions given. Whether any of this pertained to himself he was quite unconcerned. That was until the insistent droning focused on him and it became apparent he was required to give a response of some kind.

“Are you with us?”

No. He most decidedly was not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

There was more badgering along this vein, demanding that he open his eyes, that he wake up fully. He was persuaded finally to do so only because there was a chance it would put an end to the incessant pestering.

He peeled his uncooperative eyelids apart with much effort and peered blearily at the ceiling above him. Bruce’s face swam into view, one of his bland little smiles pulling at his features. Loki blinked dully.

“Hi there,” Bruce said. “Welcome back.”

Loki could find neither the energy nor the will to formulate a response.

The surface Loki was reclined upon dipped under Bruce’s weight as the man shifted and turned from view for a moment. When he returned that damn repetitive pressure came back, and although refreshingly cool it _hurt_.

“Sorry,” Bruce told him. After a few more passes that wandered further down the side of Loki’s face, throat and beneath his collar, the invasion blessedly ceased. “Help me sit him up,” Bruce then said, presumably to someone else present.

Without his consent or apparently requiring any effort of his own, Loki felt his upper body being lifted and his back and shoulders braced against something soft. Hands fussed around him, propping him securely and rearranging the cold packs against his burning skin. The movement and the change in position was oddly disorienting.

Loki felt himself beginning to drift.

“Nuh-uh, nope,” Bruce said, nudging Loki on the shoulder. “Come on, you know the drill.”

Loki blinked his eyes open again. What turned out to be a straw was poked unceremoniously at his lips until he granted it entrance. It took him a further moment to summon the wherewithal to drink. The first weak sips awoke a desiccating thirst that demanded immediate and thorough quenching, and his listless body found the resources to seek a hastening to that effect. A faltering hand made its way to the cup in an effort to prevent its removal, and Bruce responded to this lethargic urgency by helping Loki to wrap his fingers more securely around it. Bruce retained a steadying grip on it even so.

“It’s okay, there’s more. Not so fast.”

Bruce refilled the cup as promised and Loki was allowed to slake his thirst in full. Once his body was satisfied, he let his hand fall back to his side and took a moment to catch his breath. It took some minutes before he was able to ascertain anything more about his surroundings or to take stock of his own condition.

He was on a bed. But it wasn’t _his_ bed.

It was hard to think. And it was still too hot.

How did he even get here? There was something he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn’t for the life of him…

 _Thor_.

Loki’s eyes snapped wide and he lurched entirely upright with all the urgency of that single thought, scattering cold packs and pillows as he did so.

“Oh no you don’t,” Bruce hurried to insist, his feeble attempts at restraining Loki’s forward motion surprisingly effective. He pushed Loki back down and deftly rearranged the items disturbed by the movement with his other hand. “Don’t make me break out the cuffs. Way too early for that.” The way the man said it suggested that was probably supposed to be a joke of some kind, but that even he didn’t think it was funny.

Loki turned his head to look at his assailant, his brows pulling together. “I have to go,” he tried to explain. Why was Bruce keeping him here?

“Not right now you don’t. Doctor’s orders.”

Loki was absolutely certain that was not true. “But I have to…” What was it he had to do? Something important. Something that couldn’t wait. He felt his attention wandering as he puzzled this out, his frown deepening.

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” Bruce said instead, leaning over slightly to reapply the adhesive sensor of the crude temperature monitoring equipment Loki had inadvertently dislodged.

“Hot,” Loki grumbled, perhaps unnecessarily.

“What else?”

Loki closed his eyes. “Tired.”

“Any pain? Aches? Nausea?”

Loki made an non-committal sound.

“Do you know where you are? What’s my name?”

Loki didn’t want to answer any more questions. He wanted to sleep.

“C’mon, Loki. Work with me here.”

Persistent, bothersome mortal.

Bruce let out a startled burst of laughter, which rather suggested Loki might have said this out loud. The fact that he had neither intended to nor noticed was more than a little alarming.

“Guess that’s my answer,” Bruce said, amused.

There were more tests inflicted upon his person that chased away the immediate prospect of rest. Over time and with more water Loki began to feel marginally more clear-headed, enough that he could follow what was happening. Bruce pinched at Loki’s skin, pressed on his fingernails, peered into his eyes. He poked and prodded, consulted his limited equipment, recorded his findings on the clipboard he was always carrying around and that he refused to substitute for a digital display. When he was done he tapped his pencil against his mouth and delivered his verdict. Alongside a series of patronising, demeaning chastisements.

“You’re pretty run down,” Bruce said with a pointed look. “Not a great place to start. I’m gonna take a wild guess here that this has been coming on for a while and that you didn’t say anything, and that you haven’t been getting enough rest, which is probably what’s brought it on. Even though I distinctly remember asking you to. On more than one occasion. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the meal skipping. When was the last time you ate something substantial?”

Loki simply blinked uncomprehendingly at this, and Bruce sighed. “You’re exhibiting all the signs,” he summarised. “I’d say you’re probably already in stage two.”

Preposterous. Loki flicked his fingers dismissively. “I am not Asgardian. I cannot be sick.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell ya, buddy…”

There was that word again. The one Bruce used when he was either being sarcastic, coddling Loki in some way, or performing a strange combination of the two. Loki hated it. That wasn’t his _name_.

“Hey. Stay awake for a bit longer, okay? I need you to talk me through a few things first.”

Ugh. The man was impossible. Sleep. Don’t sleep. Why couldn’t he make up his mind?

“So far you’re more or less textbook. But is there anything I need to know about your, uh, ancestry, that might be relevant here?”

Now _that_ was funny. “I do not know. I have never cared to learn.”

“Well who might?”

A snort of unnatural mirth escaped from Loki before he could contain it. “The Allfather. My _real_ father. Who knows? Although they’re both somewhat indisposed at the moment.” He laughed quietly to himself. A small voice at the back of his mind insisted he should feel mortified to be sharing any of this. As it was he didn’t really care all that much. In fact he felt a bit silly.

Bruce was frowning at him. He was doing that a lot lately.

“What about your magic?” Bruce pressed. “Are there any precautions we need to take?”

The implications of that question were enough to sober Loki towards some semblance of alertness. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“I just want to be prepared. We never talked about this. And Thor was enough of a handful. Are we going to be rounding up a bunch of sweaty doubles in the middle of the night or what?”

This wasn’t something Loki had yet considered. He felt his face blanch at the prospect of losing control of himself to that degree, and at the thought of the measures that might be required to keep him in check. He did not wish to harm anyone, however inadvertently.

“Hey. It’s okay.”

Loki forced himself to calm. There was no suggestion that such a thing would come to pass. He’d not experienced any such issue before, and in all likelihood he would be unable to expend anything like the reserves and concentration required for even the most elementary working. The smallest of such efforts certainly felt beyond him for the moment.

As the adrenaline dissipated he felt his remaining strength draining with it.

“I’m sure I’ll be in no condition,” he admitted somewhat miserably, allowing himself to sink back into his pillows. His head was starting to hurt again. Perhaps he ought to let Bruce know. He closed his eyes.

“We’ll take care of it,” Bruce assured him, apparently less confident about this assertion. “Don’t worry about it.”

“M’not _worried_ ,” Loki murmured petulantly.

A hand patted Loki on the arm. “Just try to relax and get some rest. I promise I’ll leave you alone now. And I know you already know how all of this goes, but I’m here if there’s anything you want to ask me.” When Loki did not offer a response to this, Bruce continued with, “You’re going to be fine, Loki.”

Not this again. “Save your… pretty lies… for someone else.”

“No can do. Same treatment for everybody. Can’t be accused of playing favourites.”

Loki tsked.

“I’ll be back to check on you later.”

“Hmm.”

Bruce might well have said something more, but Loki was already succumbing to sleep, and this time he didn’t fight it.


End file.
